What A Tangled Web We Weave
by ElizabethAnnFanfic
Summary: Set during season 6, somewhere between 6x14 Agua Mala and 6x16 Alpha. UST, Angst, Friendship. An unwelcome third party causes disruption in the agents' partnership.
1. Chapter 1

Timeline: somewhere between 6x14 Agua Mala and 6x16 Alpha

Category: not a post-episode per say, just filling in some blanks; UST, Angst, Friendship

Chapter One

"Ugh," Scully said staring down at her tofu stir fry. "This isn't very good."

"It doesn't _look_ very good," Mulder said as he grimaced at the jumble of unidentifiable items on Scully's plate. "That's what you get for trying something new…and healthy."

She looked over at his plate. Mulder wasn't concerned about his waistline. He seemingly stayed trim without even trying. It wasn't fair. He was enjoying fries and a grilled pastrami sandwich with obvious relish.

"Maybe you're right," she said poking at the offending food with her fork.

"Course I am," he said popping a fry in his mouth. "The FBI's cafeteria isn't known for its healthy choices. You have to go with the classics or you're liable to end up with…that," he said gesturing with a smile at her plate.

Scully looked back down at her lunch. She wasn't sure that she could force herself to eat this, but she was famished. It was dry, tasteless, and marginally frightening in its mysterious contents. She would have been better off going with a bagel. Even if all they had was off brand low-fat cream cheese.

"Here," Mulder said passing her a golden fry.

Scully took the fry and bit it in half. It was salty and warm. It was infinitely better than what was passing for lunch on her plate.

"Thanks," she said before finishing it off.

"Woman cannot live by fries alone," he said passing her half of his pastrami.

"Oh, Mulder. You don't have to do that."

"I insist," he said indicating that she should take the sandwich that he had already placed on her plate.

"You'll be hungry," she said eyeing the sandwich.

"I ate a candy bar an hour ago."

"Mulder," she said disapprovingly.

"Hey, that candy bar got you a half sandwich," he said with wink.

"I just wish you wouldn't eat like that."

"Okay, Mom," he teased. He wiped his hands on his paper napkin and tapped his chest with his index finger. "The old ticker is doing just fine. Passed my last stress test with flying colors."

Scully tried to push away thoughts of treadmills as she bit into the sandwich. It was a little greasy, but a godsend compared to what she had misguidedly chosen for herself.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much," she said after swallowing. "Thanks."

"Sure. I like to swoop in and save G-women from bad…tofu stir fry? What were you _thinking_?"

Scully laughed in spite of herself, covering her mouth with her hand. "I don't know," she said shaking her head. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

"If we hadn't been called home so unexpectedly without any kind of warning, we could have bagged our lunch," Mulder grouched.

Just that quickly Mulder was back to thinking about work. Scully wouldn't have minded lunch going by without a reminder.

"Mmm…Skinner is pissed," Scully mumbled.

"Another wrecked Bureau car…I know," Mulder said before devouring half of what was left of his portion of the sandwich in one monstrous bite. He paused, chewing slowly. "Shit," he cursed. "What time is it?"

Scully looked down at her watch. "Ten past."

"I'm late for my reaming," he groaned and pushed his chair away from the table. "Time to account for the smashed up car and whatever else I've cost the FBI this week."

"You want me to come with you?"

"No, Skinner said just me." Mulder paused as he removed his plate full of fries from his tray and set it next to Scully's. "Besides, you said I was driving too fast."

Scully's brow arched and she looked over her nose at him. "You were."

"Okay, _lead foot_, but that kind of talk won't help me," he pronounced standing up with his tray. "You dodged the bullet on this meeting—take advantage of it. Finish your lunch. I'll see you back in the office." He paused, leaning over the table. "Enjoy my fries," he said with a smile.

Before she could thank him again, he was several paces away, walking quickly towards his fifty lashes. He was truly going to get a stern lecture from Skinner. After Mulder had turned his cell phone off, Scully had been the recipient of the AD's voicemails, and he had not been pleased. This kind of meeting was nothing new, but it never got any less unpleasant.

Just when Scully thought she was alone with her thoughts and her acquired lunch, a woman approached her table.

"Excuse me?" the woman said.

"Yes?"

"Is it alright if I join you?"

Scully glanced around the expansive room. There were plenty of empty tables.

"Umm…sure," Scully lamely replied.

It wouldn't do to be unkind, but she wasn't thrilled with the prospect of having to make small talk with this woman she had never met before. It wasn't high school: she fully expected to be allowed to sit alone in peace.

"Melinda," the woman said sliding into Mulder's chair. "Melinda Jones."

Scully's eyes darted around the room once more just to make sure no one was watching: this had the feeling of a set up, a joke. She was becoming used to feeling like a joke in this building: the woman with a background in science who should know better, but who hangs with her partner nonetheless. A punchline.

No one seemingly was paying them any mind, however, so she finally responded warily, "Dana…"

"Scully, I know. I'm the Assistant Director's secretary."

Scully cocked her head. She knew Skinner's secretary and this most certainly was not her.

"AD in charge of Laboratory," the woman amended.

"Ah…okay."

"I hope you don't mind my sitting here with you. I've only been here a couple of months and I don't know too many people. I know you though…you and your partner…by reputation of course."

Scully gave her a tight lipped smile. If this was going to be a game of twenty questions about goblins and ghouls, she didn't care to participate. She didn't like to encourage people thinking of their unit as a freak show. She wasn't put on this earth as a form of entertainment for others.

"And I've seen you around," the woman said leaning forward with a nervous smile. "Hard not to notice, if you don't mind me saying."

Scully narrowed her eyes at the woman in front of her. "I don't know what you mean."

The woman looked down at the table with a noticeable blush rising on her cheeks. "Nothing."

Scully could also see that she was wringing her hands just under the table. This woman, who was seemingly so eager to make her acquaintance, was acting decidedly odd.

"You know, I'm just going to go ahead and ask. It's what I came over for after all…" the woman said biting her lip.

"Alright," Scully responded.

She was beginning to think this young woman was a little off-kilter. The Bureau should be more careful in the hiring of support staff, if she was any indication of their standards.

"Are you two…you know…dating?"

Scully nearly knocked her water glass over as she nervously jumped in her chair, upsetting her tray with her forearm. Recovering, she knit her brows and fixed the woman across from her with a stony glare. "Excuse me?"

"You and Fox Mulder? I mean…that _is_ what I'd heard."

So, that is what she meant by _reputation_. This woman could apparently care less about little green men. She was an office gossip of a different kind. Scully would have preferred the freak show.

"No," Scully replied flatly.

Her mind was flooded with things she might say to this woman. How presumptuous she was. Unprofessional. Nosey. But, all she could manage was 'no'; she was too thunderstruck to say any of those other things that might have put her in her place.

"No? I thought…well, I'd heard you…hmmm…awkward! Sorry. I saw you two over here and it looked like…never mind."

Shared food. Shared laughter. Shared confidences. Scully rolled her eyes. She knew just what it looked like.

"Most definitely not," Scully said clearing her throat.

"You wouldn't mind then? If I…?"

Scully's mouth opened in the shape of an "o" but no sound came out. Suddenly she sized this woman up, taking stock of her for the first time. Young. Younger than she was by at least five years. Maybe as many as eight. Skin unlined by age. Regular symmetrical features and big brown eyes. Silky brunette hair pulled back into a straight ponytail that hung down her back. Tall. Five foot nine perhaps. And if Scully could peer under the table, she would gamble that the woman was wearing heels in spite of her God-given altitudinal advantage—the nerve. And not quite stacked, but curvaceous under her black suit and white blouse. Pretty by anyone's standard.

"I don't want to step on your toes," the woman continued. "We girls have to stick together."

'I was unaware you were a vanguard for the feminist's movement,' Scully inwardly griped. Scully wiped her hands on her napkin and began to stack her things up on the plastic tray in front of her. She really no longer wished to be a part of this tête-à-tête. She needed to escape the cafeteria post-haste. "Do whatever you like," she finally managed.

"Yeah?" the woman said, eagerly leaning forward and griping the table with her hands. "You're not interested?" she asked incredulously.

"I know Agent Mulder better than you do," Scully said. "Besides, I'm seeing someone."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

She walked down the labyrinthine hallways with her heels clicking on the floor and her fists balled at her side. Scully just wanted to get back to their remote basement office. No one bothered them down there. She could hide and compose herself.

Lately things had been good. They understood where they stood with each other. Their understanding had been shaken at times—shaken by outside forces like abductions, cancer, and Diana Fowley. But they'd always regained their footing and been stronger for the challenges. The partnership was more solid than ever before. So was the friendship. And the unspoken things were unspoken, and it seemed to Scully that they both were content with that. Mulder hadn't been pushing, she hadn't been retreating. They were comfortable.

Leave it to the rumor mill to take a healthy partnership and turn it into something else. She was a 'skirt' in FBI parlance. Always cognizant that she was a woman first in many of her colleagues' estimation, it was painful to hear that they also believed she was a 'skirt' involved in an affair with her partner. It wasn't the first time she had heard rumblings or overheard the nicknames, but this exchange hadn't been one of insinuation and mockery. It was a bald-faced assumption shared by the secretarial staff at very least—that they were lovers.

And they weren't.

They were friends. And yes, they loved each other. She had known that he loved her for years. He loved her intensely; as intense as he was about everything else in his life. In typical Mulder fashion, however, he was only partially satisfied with their relationship. She was aware of this. Aware of an undercurrent that flowed between them. That he wanted to push her, and yet was afraid to do so. That he was restless and sometimes struggled to maintain the boundaries that she felt were so essential. Mulder found it difficult to ever be content, and it was no different with their relationship. But, he loved her and that was crux of the matter.

Moreover, she loved him in return. She was willing to acknowledge that much to herself, and if the situation ever really called for it, she was fairly certain she could summon the courage to tell him. He needed to hear it. More so than she did…probably. She knew beyond a doubt that there were people who loved her, but Mulder lived a strikingly different reality, where he imagined himself unloved and maybe even unlovable. So, if they were ever really inches away from death—and in all likelihood they would be given their track record—she would attempt to tell him. Perhaps.

'Not _in love_, however,' she reminded herself. No matter what her stomach was telling her after Melinda Jones announced her intentions. Her love for Mulder was different, unclassifiable, and unlike anything she had ever felt for someone before—certainly nothing like any of her past relationships; this helped assure her that she wasn't in love, as if she had ever seriously questioned that fact. What she had felt for Mulder had evolved so slowly that one morning it truly seemed as if what had been her friend and partner was now the only person in the world she could imagine herself with. And their 'together' was partnership. It was defined by its boundaries as much as it was by the unspeakable connection they shared—that was the nature of it. A romantic relationship with Mulder was out of the question. Not because she didn't find him attractive and not because he didn't challenge her and not because she didn't know him to be a good man, but because it might threaten everything they'd worked to establish and because she didn't want to be seen as unprofessional.

Never mind that she imagined Mulder could quite possibly be the worst potential boyfriend in the world. He could be an inconsiderate, self-centered, and monomaniacal partner: imagine what kind of lover he would be? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her passing thoughts. Mulder's intense focus as a quality in a lover was not something she could afford to contemplate. Now or ever. Because, things had been remarkably good lately. No push, no pull. They were in a pleasant place in their partnership that she wouldn't have minded inhabiting for awhile. Stretching out and making herself comfortable. Maybe even letting a few of her boundaries down…just a little.

The last thing she needed was Melinda Jones ruining everything. Granted, as pretty as this young woman was, Mulder was not likely to pay her much heed. While it had been a short interview, she was fairly certain that Melinda was not Mulder's intellectual equal or anything close to it. Mulder wasn't above looking, but she had learned over the course of their partnership that it took more than a pair of shapely legs to _hold_ Fox Mulder's attention. You were competing with grey aliens and a missing sister elevated to a god-like status, after all.

It took someone like Diana Fowley. Someone with history on her side. Someone who could pretend to back up his theories. Sympathize intellectually and professionally. Play to his mental inclinations in addition to his male ones. Scully had promised herself not to waste her time thinking about Agent Fowley, however, so she turned her thoughts back to her primary target: Melinda Jones.

This Jones woman might not have a legitimate shot with Mulder, but she could make things messy for them, should she choose to do so. She had already acted audaciously by approaching Scully about the issue after all. She could spread rumors and bring them under a greater degree of scrutiny; they didn't need that.

Scully approached the elevator and pressed the button. It lit up and she looked up at the numbers as they lit up in slow succession. She breathed in through her nose, trying to calm herself down. The elevator paused at a floor and Scully looked back down at the button. She pressed it again repeatedly.

"Whoa!" a familiar monotone voice urged her from behind. She could feel his breath on her ear as he continued, "You're going to break it, and it won't come any faster if you keep pounding away at it."

She turned her head slightly towards the speaker. Mulder's tone had been suggestive and he was wearing that infamous smirk of his only an inch away from her face. He didn't look like someone who had been worked over by the AD. He was still leaning down to her level when she took a step towards the elevator and away from him, causing him to straighten up and stick his hands in his pockets.

"That was an awfully quick meeting," she said glancing back up at the numbers above the elevator.

"I've been given beach time," he responded rather cheerily.

Scully nearly pulled every muscle in her already tight neck by quickly craning her head back around at him. "Skinner suspended you?"

Admittedly, his infraction involved one of the Three B's, but after all these years, Scully didn't imagine that Mulder would be disciplined for something as minor as a busted up Bucar.

Mulder shook his head. "No, I'm just kidding."

She looked forward once more as the doors of the elevator slid open, pushing her way through the handful of agents who were exiting the elevator. Mulder stepped in and stood beside her, leaning against the back rail of the elevator.

"That's not funny," she said jabbing the basement floor button with as much force as she had done the previous unoffending button.

His joke wasn't funny and neither were the flips her stomach was doing at the thought of his being suspended.

"I had you there for a second though. Thought you'd have to go it alone for awhile, huh?"

"Yeah, well done," she intoned sarcastically.

"I was saved by the bell. Skinner got a call he had to take." Mulder paused to pull his left hand out of his pocket and check the time. "I'm sure I'll get a reprise tomorrow."

The elevator doors opened once more and Scully exited quickly.

"Slow down there," Mulder said as he came up behind her, easily catching up with his long strides.

He placed his hand in the middle of the small of her back, and Scully sidestepped him. She was careful not to look up at him when he paused in his stride. She knew he would be shocked by her maneuver. Possibly even hurt. But, this was exactly what got them in this awkward predicament. Mulder's lack of boundaries. His interminable need to insinuate himself into her life—both physically and mentally. He seemingly gave no thought to what others might think about such displays of physical familiarity. Worse yet, maybe he did. Yet another way that he placed his stamp on her.

"I was just kidding about the suspension, Scully," he explained, as he caught up with her once more and grabbed the door to their office. "Don't be pissed."

"I'm not _pissed_," she insisted.

"Oookay," he said mockingly. As he stepped around his desk, she could feel his eyes upon her. "You're stuck with me for now," he tried sounding more playful.

Scully finally glanced up at him. "Good. We've got work to do."

"You're right," he said as he collapsed in his chair. "We could make it a late night. Order a pizza." He leaned his elbows on his desk and pressed his fingertips together, raising his brows expectantly as he waited for her response.

"Not tonight, Mulder. I have things to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mulder locked his car and began to make his way through the Bureau parking garage. He'd stayed up late the previous night, working on the piles of information that he'd wanted to work on with Scully, but she had wanted to go home. Needed to go home. He wasn't particularly clear on what she had going on, but there was something she had to get home to apparently. So, he'd dragged the files back to his apartment in order to go over them alone and now he was lugging them back into the office. He'd managed to jam all of the paperwork into his briefcase, but it was a might heavier than usual as he strode between the cars and towards the stairwell.

As he was reaching for the door, a female voice called out to him. It was higher than Scully's and he found himself regretting that it wasn't her. Yes, he was bound to see her in the few minutes it would take him to reach their office, but meeting with her here in the parking garage would be unexpected and satisfying in a way he couldn't quite explain.

"Could you hold the door, please?" the voice called out.

He held the door and turned to see who was addressing him. A young woman was hurrying towards the door; a black jacket slung over her arm, long legs, and stiletto heels clicking on the cement of the garage floor.

"Hi. Thanks," she replied, as she squeezed past him into the corridor.

Mulder gave the woman a smile, as she continued to beam up at him as he walked down the passage.

"I think I know you," she said sticking out her hand. "Fox Mulder, right?"

"Um, yes," Mulder said extending his hand with some confusion. "I don't think we've met."

"No, we haven't. But, I've met your partner. Dana? We were having a little girl talk…just yesterday in fact," the woman stated with a broad smile.

'Girl talk?' Mulder thought incredulously. He didn't think Scully engaged in girl talk. Particularly at work. He had nothing to say to this strange bit of information other than, "Yes, Dana Scully is my partner."

"We were talking about you," the woman said with a lilting laugh.

"Really?" 'Well, that could be interesting.'

"Were your ears burning?"

If Mulder wasn't mistaken, this woman was flirting with him. Since he didn't know anything about her, he couldn't be sure if it due to some attraction or if she flirted with everyone.

"And your name is?" he asked dodging her question.

"Melinda Jones. I'm the new secretary for the AD of Laboratory. I was chatting up Dana…girl talk. Anyway, I said that." The woman paused and seemed somewhat embarrassed. "You agents! You make me a little nervous. I have to get used to you."

Mulder grinned awkwardly and continued to walk quickly, hoping that he might outpace her before they got to the elevators.

"She didn't mention our talk?" the woman asked.

"Uh…no. Must have slipped her mind."

Because, that's generally the sort of thing Scully spent time musing about: conversations with secretaries that cornered her…the way he was being cornered. It wasn't as if Scully had anything better to do with her time. He snorted to himself.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

Mulder glanced over at her: she was keeping up with him, despite his best efforts. She was tall—harder to shake in the hundred yard dash.

"Nothing," he said dismissively.

They made it to the elevators, and Mulder sighed as she pressed the button. They would be stuck together for a least a couple of floors. Unless she truly had something worthwhile to divulge about what Scully had been saying about him, he wasn't interested in an extended conversation with the woman.

"She's really crazy about him, huh? I'm mean, Dana…your partner," the woman said, as she rocked back on her heels and tucked a long dark strand of hair behind her ear.

Mulder looked askance at her. "Crazy about whom?"

"Mmm…I didn't catch his name," she said as she stared forward at the elevator. "Her boyfriend. But, once she started talking about him, she just went on and on. I'm sure you hear about him all the time. I'm happy for her, because I know how busy you agents are. I wonder where she finds the time to date. Do you have time…?"

Mulder failed to hear anything else that came from this woman's mouth. Her words phased out in a faint buzzing as his mind began to race unpleasantly.

Scully wasn't dating. Scully didn't have a boyfriend. She couldn't. He'd know about it. She would have told him.

Scully _could_ have a boyfriend. Scully could have kept it from him. She liked to wall herself off and keep certain things to herself. She might even have kept it a secret to protect him, because she was aware of how it would make him feel. Or what an ass it might turn him into. So, maybe she wasn't protecting him so much as protecting herself.

But, there was absolutely no evidence that Scully had been seeing anyone. Where _would_ she have found the time? They were constantly together. Either out in the field or in the office. Working late nights and spending the weekends in lengthy phone conversations about case files and theories. He even managed to work in non-work outings on occasion of late. Days or evenings when he'd concocted a reason to see her and tried to take her out of work-mode if only for a moment. She even called him when she was on her way to her mother's house for Christ's sake.

Nevertheless, his mind began to quickly catalog all of the evidence that might be summoned to charge Scully with the crime of dating without his knowledge.

There was Scully's refusal to stay late working with him. She stayed up with him poking through files a lot lately, but apparently she had some pressing issue to attend to last night that prevented her from being with him. Maybe it was a man. Yes, there were other explanations that made just as much sense, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Scully had personal plans that involved a man. He wasn't the only person in the world to find Dana Scully desirable: he was only too aware how many men would be happy to step in. Frohike wasn't his sole competition.

There was Scully's odd behavior in the hallway yesterday: she'd almost acted like she didn't want him to touch her in the most innocuous of ways. There was no denying that she'd lurched away from him—not once, but twice—within the span of a few minutes. And she'd acted icy. Even after his friendly attempts to feed her after her abysmal food choices not more than a half hour earlier. Perhaps she was feeling as if she belonged to someone else—that he no longer had the right to touch her in any way. Granted, he'd probably never had that right to begin with.

And lastly, there was this woman's report. Secondhand evidence at best and not necessarily from the most reliable of sources for all he knew. She was a flirt, so he couldn't be sure of her motives, and he knew nothing else about her besides. It also didn't seem like Scully to divulge personal information to a stranger. But, there it was in the flesh: a young woman professing to have engaged in 'girl talk' with Scully, regarding Scully's boyfriend…and he had come up too. What did they talk about? What a sad sap he was? How he couldn't take a hint?

'Scully has a goddamn boyfriend and I didn't even fucking know it,' Mulder cursed inwardly.

The woman was still babbling endlessly as the doors of the elevator parted and she stepped inside. Mulder, who as if rooted to floor, failed to follow. The doors began to close, and the young woman reached out to stop them with a quizzical look.

"I'm going to take the stairs."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Good morning, Mulder," Scully said, as she swung their office door shut and walked towards her table.

"You're late," Mulder responded tersely.

Scully glanced at her watch before depositing her personal items on the table. "By whose watch, Mulder?"

When he didn't respond she looked up at him. He was perched behind his desk, armed folded across his chest, and wearing an unreadable expression.

"I'm five minutes early," she said, as she pulled her chair in and sat down. "Just not fifteen."

"What was the hold up?" he asked still unmoving.

It didn't appear that his computer was on: there was no reflection of light from the screen on his countenance. There were no files open on his desk either. There were, however, a scattering of pencils strewn across the top of his desk and she noted that the trashcan at his feet was overturned, almost as if he had thrown a temper tantrum before she'd arrived. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You okay, Mulder?"

Maybe he'd already gotten part deux of his dressing down from Skinner, although it would surprise her to find out that such an incident would lead to the knocking over of pencil cups and the kicking of trashcans. An unpleasant mood perhaps, but Mulder was fully accustomed to being lectured—it didn't normally call for such antics.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

Scully shook her head. "I don't know. Bad morning?" she inquired opening her laptop and pressing the power button.

"What gives you that impression?" he asked stonily.

She sighed. He was really going to make this a disagreeable day apparently.

"When is your meeting with Skinner?" she asked, as she typed in her log-in information.

"I haven't the foggiest."

So, he hadn't had a run in with Skinner already. Something else had set him off. It could be a myriad of things, and she wasn't in the mood to play guessing games. She had done her best to put aside the events of the previous day, but Mulder's moodiness was threatening the measure of calm she had regained. It also reminded her that she was right: she knew Mulder better than Melinda Jones—the man could be impossible.

"How was your evening?" he asked in the same accusatory tone that had permeated everything he had said to her thus far.

"Relaxing," she replied. "I needed to decompress." An honest avowal.

"And what exactly does that entail?" he pressed.

"Why? You want to fantasize about me in a tub, Mulder?" she teased trying to shake him from his funk.

The attempt seemingly fell flat as he turned in his chair towards the blank computer screen and scowled.

"You want to tell me what happened to your desk area over there?" she asked.

He continued to silently glower at his computer monitor.

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "If you want to be impossible, be impossible. Just don't knock any of _my_ things over," she groused as she reached across the table for her bag.

In her frustration she overreached and knocked the table lamp just enough to swing the arm around and send a stack of papers flying off the table in a flurry of white sheets.

"Damn," she cursed standing up.

She crouched down and began to gather up the scattered sheets. She heard Mulder's chair scrape along the floor and she saw his shoes approach her. He kneeled down with her and began to help her pick up the mess.

"Looks like you didn't need my help knocking things over," he said in an apologetic tone.

"No, guess not," she said as she tapped the stack she'd recreated on the floor to straighten them out.

He handed her a fistful of papers and she looked up at him. He was no more than six inches from her face and he looked deadly serious. The anger was gone, and another emotion had replaced it on his face, except she couldn't quite read what it was. For a half beat as she watched him, she felt her pulse begin to quicken: she had an unnerving feeling that Mulder was about to do something that fell well outside of her boundaries. She willed herself to stand up, but he held her gaze, preventing her from moving despite her unease.

"Are you seeing someone?" he asked calmly.

That wasn't what she was anticipating.

Her heart began to thunder more loudly, so that she worried Mulder could actually hear it. Why would he ask her something like that? What exactly was he getting at?

Then it occurred to her. She had said as much yesterday to Melinda Jones. Did office gossip work that efficiently? Was Mulder actually that plugged into office gossip?

She sat back on her heels, recovering some distance from him. She crossed her arms. "No," she stated firmly.

Mulder had watched the myriad of emotions flit behind Scully's perfect mask that she donned every day when she walked through the doors of the Hoover Building. It should be an easy question to answer. Either she was dating someone or she wasn't. The fact that the question caused her distress didn't make him feel confident in her response.

He stood up slowly, still holding her gaze. She remained crouched on the floor with her arms folded across her chest, as if this position would protect her from his personal questions. He held his hand out to her and she slowly unfolded her arms and took his hand so he could pull her up.

"You sure about that?" he pressed, as she stood and he continued to grip her hand in his.

She pursed her lips and tilted her head at him—the quintessential Scully posturing that was meant to convey 'you have got to be kidding me.' But he wasn't. He wished he was. He wished the idea had never crossed his mind that Scully might be seeing someone. That perhaps it was serious. That she might leave him. Because, ultimately, it always came down to how it would affect him: he was well-aware of his crippling self-centeredness when it came to his petite partner. Otherwise, he would have shown her the door for her own good years ago. It was his neediness that kept her in his toxic orbit.

"You don't believe me?" she finally responded.

He let her hand slip. He didn't want to physically overpower her; even when it came to just holding her hand. Scully didn't respond well to such tactics. She wanted to be treated as an equal and even his ability to loom over her did not sit well with her.

"I guess I'm confused," he admitted as he moved behind his desk once more.

Awkwardly standing behind his desk, he watched her as she slid into her chair, biting her lip and shuffling through the papers they'd collected off the floor. It seemed as if she had determined for the both of them that their conversation was over.

"Would you tell me if you were?" he asked. "Seeing someone," he clarified, when she failed to respond.

She looked up from her pile of papers, blinking. "We don't usually discuss our private lives, Mulder."

He snorted, "What private lives?"

"Is that funny to you?" she asked, her cheeks beginning to betray some color.

He flopped into his chair. "Trust me, no." He began to gather up the pencils that were scattered on his desk. "And I don't think you want me to thrash out my personal feelings."

He glanced up at her; she was still busying herself with the papers and studiously avoiding his gaze. No, the last thing Scully wanted to do was quiz him on his feelings.

"If you're not seeing anyone, you should know that I was told differently today." He dropped the pencils with a clatter back into the pencil cup. "There is someone here who is telling tales."

"Melinda Jones?" Scully asked pointedly.

"Yes." He watched her with some interest as she angrily continued to pointlessly move papers around on her desk. Something in her tone of voice and her crisp movements seemed off to him. "So, you did speak with her yesterday?"

"Yes, I did. She's interested in you, Mulder. Don't be dense."

Mulder smiled and grabbed his wastepaper basket, righting it. "I picked up on that. I'm not hopeless, you know."

"Could have fooled me," she responded frostily.

"Why do you think she'd make up a lie about you like that?" Mulder mused leaning on his hand and rubbing his chin.

Scully shot him a look as she straightened her laptop and desk lamp in turn. "She didn't…exactly."

Mulder reclined in his desk chair. "Care to expand on that, Agent Scully?" he asked drumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair.

Scully grabbed her glasses and slipped them on, peering at her computer screen with evident rapt attention. "I may have told her I was seeing someone."

"Really? Why would you do that?"

"I don't know, Mulder," Scully said, turning towards him in exasperation. "She'd cornered me. She insinuated that…"

"What?" he asked leaning forward once more in anticipation of her response.

"She thought we were…_involved_."

"Ah," Mulder said with a nod.

"I corrected her. She stated her interest in you. She asked my _permission_, if you get my drift."

Mulder couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I do."

"Wipe that smile off your face, Mulder."

"Sorry," he said trying to regain his composure.

"I told her I was seeing someone. I don't care to be thought of as the woman who pines for her much sought-after partner," she affirmed pulling off her glasses with a sigh.

"_Much sought-after_, Scully?" he asked, his brows arched in disbelief.

"Calm down. I meant, in Melinda Jones' warped worldview."

"Right. Okay. Because, I don't want you getting hung up on that incident with Sheila Fontaine," he teased.

"I lay awake at night, Mulder," Scully deadpanned.

"So do I. Give me a call sometime."

Scully rolled her eyes.

Mulder grabbed a pen and began to fiddle with it. "So, Miss Jones is a bit of a crazy. Hmm?"

"You think?" Scully asked nonchalantly.

"Well, overly eager perhaps."

"Perhaps."

"So, I'm not going call her."

Scully looked over her laptop at him, "Mulder, you never do." He could see just the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, as if she knew him so well.

"That's not true," he said knitting his brows together and examining the workings of the pen he'd been playing with.

"No? You have a private life?" she asked gamely.

"No, I don't. But I do call. I call you."

THE END


End file.
